Stray Puppy
by Sombereyes
Summary: "Every night, although you cannot hear me, I call your name, hoping, wishing more than ever, that you'd come back to me." -Nana introspective about her once in a lifetime friend.-


Author's ramblings: I just finished the Nana series... The anime, not the manga. It left a lot to be desired on many levels for me. Because of that, I wrote this. I was going to go down an angst filled road (having found out spoilers from the manga from a friend) but I just can't do that. I might write something more suited towards the manga once I finish it, but that's a long ways away only having picked it up a week ago. If you guys end up liking this, I may end up writing more about the Nana series since in all honesty the story, even as unfinished as it is, has so much wonderful content for me to think about...

Clearly, I don't own Nana... (Do people still shove disclaimers on these things? I feel dumb stating obvious.)

…

"Father the child..." Nobu screamed at me that night. His saddened face grew dark with repressed emotions, things he would never say likely spinning through his head like a tornado. At the time, I thought him crazy. Then again, I too, am no sane woman. It's been years since I've last spoken with the woman who some would call my pet. She's not though, is she? She's not mine, and that's what had upset me in those days. If I ever told her that, if I ever explained how much I wanted her, I think that I would be thrown away. Hachi wouldn't want anything to do with me, I know that deep down in my heart.

I still don't know how to be a real friend, and I suspect that I never will. Abandoning them, I went my own way for a while. I stopped going into room seven, of the seventh floor. I lived for my music, or lack there of, that I had wished so deeply to grasp onto. However, fame really isn't something a person like me should wish for. I didn't deserve to go as far as I did, and even now, with my name so well know, I feel as if I'm a lie for the masses. Who I was, it isn't what I am, for all of these people who come listen to me sing. Instead of being on a small stage with true fans, who could be like family, I'm in front of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, and I bet you most of these people have no idea who I really am.

I hate Takumi for what he did, and I used to hate you, Hachi, for betraying us...

I'm sorry. If I could go back and change the hands of time, I would have fathered that child. Nobu had been correct. That had been what I had wanted. I may have hated the child's father, but you... you were- it doesn't matter any more. You have your life, I have mine. Neither of us have what I would call our happiness, but, if I came back, would you still be mine? Carefree, flighty, and often boy crazy, would you still be my Hachi? You could sleep in my bed every night, if you wanted. You could cook feasts every day, and the guys, those like bothers, could come and eat at the big wooden table. We could go shopping, and buy cheep things at every store we found, every day...

Hachi...

It could be, well, like it always had been. Just, we would have one extra along for a ride. The child, it would be a bastard, because I am no man, and thus, not a father. But, Hachi, if you wanted that, I would protect you child, care for it, and perhaps, even in my own warped little way, I would come to love it. It would be mine, just like it is yours. It would not be the ideal life for everyone, but if I could go back, Hachi, god would I ever, and I would do all of these things, and more. Every night, although you can not hear me, I call your name, wishing more than ever, that you'd come back to me.

I need your love, your devotion, and as stupid as it sounds, I want it back too...

We can't go back now, but if I could, I would.

End

…...

I may actually write the above out as a new story, one that would likely take place during the events when they find out Hachi does become pregnant, but that would take some deep thought that I just don't have at 9:30 am. I may do it, but in the meantime, please leave a review.


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